


Hungry

by simplyoverstated



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexic!Reid, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorder, I have one, I know I write about eating disorders a lot, I like it, Just good ol fashioned friendship, No smut or romantic relationships, Thin, depressed, skinny - Freeform, trigger warning, weight loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyoverstated/pseuds/simplyoverstated
Summary: the eating disorder from Reid's past comes back to haunt him after a particularly difficult case.





	1. Spencer remembers

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Criminal Minds *sigh*  
> Trigger warning: eating disorder shit to follow. Take care of yourself please

A woman was dead. She was third in the Atlanta area who fit the description to go missing, and the first to be found. Spencer stood over the body, still and thinking, trying to take it all in. Calm, professional; he tried to keep his mind on the science. But he couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. They were sunken in her face, large dark circles underneath. Her cheeks looked like they had been hollowed out. She was so pale. It didn’t make sense; she hadn’t been dead for that long. In fact, the science said she couldn’t have been dead for more than a couple hours. But she looked like she had already started decomposing.

Later, when her husband showed them pictures of her, Spencer realized that she was that emaciated even in life. She looked like a walking skeleton in these pictures; a ghost next to her smiling husband. Her husband (Darryl, was his name) cried, said she had a hard time, but she was getting better. Spencer could tell Hotch was about to ask what was ailing her, but before he could, Spencer spoke, a little too loudly.

“She was anorexic.” It wasn’t a question. The husband nodded, still shaking with sobs. 

“She – she was getting better…she was getting better…” He didn’t seem to be able to bring himself to say anything else. Emily touched his shoulder gently. But she was looking sideways at Spencer. Hotch too was looking at him quizzically. They never stopped profiling.

 

 

The members of the BAU worked hard over the next couple days to find the other two girls, trying to discover who had taken them before they could hurt them or take anyone else. The women taken had many things in common. They were all married, they had all wanted to have children; and they were all in recovery for serious eating disorders.

Spencer wasn’t prepared. Not just one anorexic victim, but three. No. Two of them could still be alive. They had to hope they would find them in time. He tried to go about things as he normally did, but his brain was preoccupied. He kept seeing her face, over and over again. The hollow eyes, the baggy clothes; he had seen all of that before. Not in other victims. In the mirror.

 

* * *

           

_Spencer had always been small, but having graduated high school at age 12, his size was not his oddest feature. Awkward and quiet, no friends, no fun. Depression made its home in his chest, and anxiety ruled his waking moments. At 14 he stopped eating. It took his parents nearly three months to notice. By then he was severely underweight, freezing cold, starting to suffer fainting spells nearly every other day. They took him to the hospital, so he gained weight. But they never took him to a shrink, and they never talked to him; not really. They were barely talking to each other at that point, and his mother wasn’t well._

_After that he was more careful. He took a whole seven months to get back to where he was before. It was just a game, just another thing to occupy his buzzing mind. And if he died? Well, that wouldn’t be so bad._

 

* * *

 

These days he had more or less left the game behind; he knew he ate less than he should, but it was not on purpose anymore. He was simply preoccupied with other things. But he couldn’t be underweight; at least not the way he used to be. Someone would have said something. That night, he looked at his body calculatingly in the mirror. His eyes were not as sunken as hers, his cheeks not as hollow. His waist not as small, his legs unimpressive. He was perfectly average. He frowned.

_60% of people with eating disorders recover with treatment. 20% of those who go untreated end up dying from the disease._

He sat down with the case file and read late into the night. He didn’t realize until the morning that he had not eaten dinner. He sat thinking for a moment about whether he had truly meant to eat, but just forgotten. Then he gathered all of his things hurriedly, pulled on his coat, and barreled out the door without breakfast.


	2. Hotch sees

The case had been over for weeks now. The man had thought he was putting the women’s husbands out of their misery. It turned out his sister had died from complications related to anorexia, and he believed no one should be forced to watch someone they love die like that. It was twisted, and sick, and wrong; but to a certain extent, Spencer understood. He had seen people suffer at the hands of this disease. It was not pretty. Better to just disappear, maybe, then cause that much damage.

The team had long moved on. They were on a new case now. But every time he closed his eyes he could see the woman – Kaity – lying there like a skeleton in the grass.

He didn’t want to eat much anymore. He had forgotten how much he liked feeling light and floaty. When he stood up his head swam and his vision blurred. He felt pure and still and above them all. He could think so much more clearly now. He didn’t notice the looks that Hotch and Morgan frequently sent his way; the looks of concern, confusion, fear. He was too busy enjoying the feeling of being numb.

_prolonged starvation can result in decreased bone mass, organ failure, and even death._ It can also do a wonderful job of distracting from thoughts and feelings one would rather do without.

His pants grew loose. He bought a belt. He placed a plastic lawn chair in the shower because he couldn’t stand up for that long anymore. He would sit there for an hour, his eyes closed, feeling the hot water flowing over his skin. He didn’t sleep much.

* * *

 They were on the plane, on the way to investigate a new case. Morgan and Emily sat playing cards, laughing and joking. JJ watched, occasionally cutting in with a wry comment on their strategies. Gideon sat quietly in the corner of the cabin, watching Hotch. Hotch was watching Spencer Reid, who was asleep on the couch.

Suddenly Gideon rose, walking over to where Hotch sat and taking the seat next to him.

“He looks thin.” Hotch jumped; he hadn’t seen the older man walk up. Gathering himself once more, he looked back towards Reid.

“Yeah, he does.” They were silent for another moment. Then Gideon spoke.

“You need to talk to him, Hotch.”

“I know.”

“We can’t do this without him. He can’t keep going like this.”

“I know.” More silence, broken by Morgan, Emily and JJ laughing on the other side of the cabin. Hotch sighed deeply.

“What do I say, Gideon? What do you say to someone who doesn’t want to hear it?”

“You make him listen.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s gonna have a hell of a time keeping this job.” It was harsh, but Hotch knew it was true. They could hold a job for someone who was having a hard time, they could help someone out in the office. But if Spencer refused to get help, they couldn’t allow him to continue to work on cases. It would be dangerous for him and for the team. He nodded solemnly. They continued to sit in silence for the rest of the flight.


	3. Morgan knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid has hid it up until now; or so he thinks. Then Morgan comes for a visit.

Spencer’s apartment was empty and dark, all the shades drawn. The only light was the blinking number _2_ on his answering machine. He flipped on the harsh overhead light and pressed the button on the machine, shedding his coat as he listened to the first message. The voice was Morgan’s.

 _Hey, Reid, I was just thinking about today. I know it was hard on you….it was hard on all of us….but I know…_  

Spencer looked up at the catch in Morgan’s voice. He had never heard his voice waver like that. After a break, the voice on the machine continued, composed and steady once more.

_I’m always here if you need to talk, you know that right? Anyways, give me a call, if you want. I can bring you some Chinese food and we can watch…I guess I don’t really know what shows you like. Whatever you like, we’ll watch it, ok? Hit me up._

The machine beeped loudly, and then started in on the second message. The voice startled him; it had been a while since he had heard it. Elle.

_Hey Reid, I hoped I’d catch you before you left. Give me a call?_

Spencer frowned. They hadn’t spoken since she left the B.A.U. In fact, he kind of thought she didn’t want anything to do with any of them. What could this be about? Why would she contact him, out of everyone? It didn’t make sense…

Panicked thoughts flooded his brain. What if she was hurt or in trouble? _Calm down_. Maybe she just wanted to know how the team was doing. He thought about the strain that stayed with them for weeks after she left. She hadn’t even said goodbye. She could be anywhere, with anyone. It was childish to think there was any safety left in this world, and she had reached out to him, to Reid. Despite himself, horror stories continued to play themselves out in his mind’s eye.

Suddenly he realized he was breathing very hard. Ugly pictures of Elle bleeding or worse. The case they had just worked circled in his head and mixed with the horrific images of Elle, and suddenly he was on the floor on all fours, clutching his chest and trying to catch his breath. The walls and ceiling seemed to be closing in on him, and he felt like he would never be able to get enough air. His hands were shaking as he reached for the phone. He fumbled with it and dropped it, but eventually managed to still his trembling fingers enough to dial.

Morgan’s deep voice answered.

_Hey, you taking me up on my offer?_

Spencer was confused for a second, but then he remembered the message before Elle’s.

 _Uh, I…Yeah, yeah…I…_ he couldn’t breathe. _I need you to come over now._

Morgan sounded immediately concerned; the young agent’s voice was shaking, and he sounded panicked.

_Reid? Spencer! I’m on my way, what’s wrong?_

Spencer tried to take deep breaths. It was a panic attack. He had had them before. Logically he knew he wasn’t in any danger. He tried to keep this thought in his head.

_Nothing, I…I just need to talk. Don’t worry._

He knew he didn’t sound very convincing. Morgan seemed to gather that he wasn’t exactly ok, but he wasn’t in any immediate danger either.

 _Ok buddy, hang tight. I’ll be there soon._ He hung up.

Spencer shakily got to his knees (he had been curled on the floor), and returned the phone to its dock. His head spun and he was back on the floor again. He tried to steady his breathing, straining to remember in his panic what he had practiced with his therapist.

He closed his eyes, and repeated the words over and over to himself: _I accept that I am feeling anxious. I acknowledge that this feeling will pass. I am aware that I am not in any immediate danger. I accept that I am feeling anxious. I acknowledge…_

He repeated the words until his breathing began to slow, and he was thinking a little more clearly. He was lying on his back in his kitchen/living-room, staring at the grimy ceiling. Then he remembered that he had called Morgan, that Morgan was on his way over right now.

_Shit._

He stood up shakily and picked up the phone once again. Just as he dialed the first number, however, he heard a knock at the door. Shit, shit, shit. He walked over and opened the door to a very concerned looking Morgan.

“Reid, what’s going on, are you ok?” He pushed past Spencer into the apartment, looking around for some kind of danger. Then he turned back to Reid, frowning. “What’s up, man?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Spencer said hurriedly, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Said Morgan, rolling his eyes, “Don’t you remember I offered to come over and talk? I meant that. I’m here for you whatever you need.”

Spencer felt embarrassed, but a small part of him was glad Morgan was here. Glad that he wasn’t alone tonight. He smiled slightly, and then felt immediately awkward. “I’m fine, really. Just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess.” Morgan, surprisingly, walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. It felt…safe..

“I don’t really want to be alone either, pretty boy.” Then he pulled away smiling and held up a flimsy paper takeout menu. “And luckily, I have just the thing to take our minds off of it!”

Spencer’s chest tightened once more. The prospect of eating, especially in front of Morgan, wasn’t something he had prepared himself for. Instantly his breathing quickened, but Morgan had flopped on the couch and was flipping through channels on the T.V.  

“I’m…not hungry.” Morgan didn’t turn around, but his shoulders tensed.

“Sure you are.” But his voice wasn’t light and conversational anymore. “You haven’t eaten all day.” _Shit_. He had managed to avoid this conversation up until now. Hotch, Gideon, even J.J. had all tried to corner him over the past few weeks, but he wasn’t having it. And now he had called Morgan here, at dinnertime, when he was clearly in distress about something. _God I hate profilers_. He tried to think of a way out. Turning, he caught sight of the answering machine again. _Elle. Oh god, I have to help Elle._ He needed to get Morgan out of here. But how?

And suddenly it came to him. The problem was the solution.

“Morgan, I didn’t want to say anything on the phone, but I need your help.” Morgan stood up immediately and was by his side in an instant.

“What is it?” he asked, and when Reid turned away and walked toward the machine, “Reid?”

“I got this message today. I thought you might want to hear it.” And he pressed play. There was Elle’s voice, familiar, friendly. His mind on the Chinese food menu Morgan had left on the coffee table, he heard her say once more:

_Hey Reid, I hoped I’d catch you before you left. Give me a call?_

"Hey, that’s Elle right?” Morgan looked a little surprised, but not the least bit worried. Spencer frowned and played the message again.

_Hey Reid, I hoped I’d catch you before you left. Give me a call?_

She didn’t sound scared. She didn’t sound rushed or out of breath. She didn’t seem to be in any danger at all, he realized. He cursed silently at himself, then tried to save the moment.

“I-I wasn’t sure what to make of…I thought she might…need help?” He stuttered. But it was clear to him now that his mind had tricked him. His brain was moving sluggishly, and he shook his head in frustration. “I mean, I thought…” But Morgan wasn’t listening to him, it seemed. He was holding his arm and looking at him with concern. _How did he get over here so quickly?_ And there was black clouding his vision, closing in around Morgan’s face. He shook his head again in confusion. Everything seemed to be moving very slowly. “Reid…” his voice was very far away, it seemed. Then something collided hard with his left knee, then his head. His shoulder was digging into something hard, a flat surface. His vision cleared, and he was on the floor of his kitchen, Morgan practically yelling his name. “Reid! Reid…God, Reid! Spencer.” His voice lowered as Spencer blinked, looking up at him. “Spencer what the hell?” He tried to sit up, but Morgan pushed him back down gently. “No, I think you’d better stay down for a second kid. How’s your head?” Reid pushed back against him, but weakly.

“I’m f-fine…I *ugh*...’m fine, Morgan, it’s fine.” He wanted Derek to leave. He wanted to be alone. He knew what just happened must have looked bad. It happened a lot these days. When he got out of bed, in the shower, walking to the car. It was not a big deal. But Morgan wouldn’t accept that. He had his phone out. Spencer groaned, “Morgan, no, I’m fine!” he was feeling a lot better now. He sat up, only to be pushed down again. The number Morgan had dialed was too long to be 911. Someone answered.

“Hotch, I’m at Reid’s apartment, and we’re going to the hospital. He passed out right in front of me, I’ll update you in a bit.” Spencer’s stomach flipped and his blood seemed to turn cold. “No!” but Morgan cut him off before he could say anymore.

“I don't wanna hear it. Now, can you stand up?” Spencer had never heard him sound so severe, especially to him. He nodded solemnly, and pulled himself up on Morgan’s arm. His head swam a bit, but he steadied himself shakily on the counter. The older agent looked at him, still holding his arm. His expression was a bit softer, but still stern. “Now, are you coming with me, or are we gonna have a problem?” Reid didn’t know what to do, what to say. Did he even have a choice? He didn’t think so, somehow. He nodded sourly. _There’s nothing wrong with me. They’re not gonna find anything, and they’re gonna send me home._ He found, as he was led out the door by Morgan, that he didn’t believe a word of this. There _was_ something wrong with him. Something very wrong.


	4. Incompetent Insomnia

At the hospital they poked and prodded and asked a lot of very obvious questions. Had he experienced a loss of appetite? Was he on any drugs or medications? Did he drink or smoke? He answered no to each in turn. The reality was that he had no appetite. He periodically slipped up and used Dilaudid to calm the chaos in his brain, and he drank nearly every night. “It must have just been exhaustion. I haven’t been sleeping very well.” They gave him a prescription for something to help him sleep, and sent him home.

_10% of adults suffer from chronic insomnia._

The nurse who discharged him looked at his emaciated figure for a little too long. The doctor had barely glanced at his face before discharging him. The scale had said 97 lbs. Any competent doctor should have admitted him for further testing, or at least a psychiatric consult. Thank god for incompetent doctors.

Morgan insisted on staying for the whole thing and driving him home afterwards. He eyed him suspiciously as they pulled up to his apartment. “Reid…”

“Listen, Morgan, I’m _fine_ ” Spencer interrupted. He pulled on the handle to open the door, but Derek locked it before he could get to it. Spencer sighed. “Ok, maybe I need to take a little better care of myself. I know that, and I’ll do better, ok? You don’t have to worry about me.”

Morgan sighed, looking concernedly at Reid. “We need you to take care of yourself, Pretty Boy.” Reid started to say something, but Morgan held up his hand to stop him. “I don’t mean just for cases, although that is important. I mean _us_ , your friends. We are your friends, you know?” Spencer nodded. “I know.”

“Ok.” Morgan looked as though he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. Instead he just smiled, and clapped Reid on the shoulder as best he could inside the small car. “Now go eat something, and I’ll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yep.” Spencer replied, very relieved to be getting out of the car and heading up to his empty apartment.

When he got upstairs, he walked purposefully past the fridge and towards his bedroom, throwing himself down on the bed and allowing the tears he had been holding back to flow down his cheeks.

_Men cry on average 1.3 times per month. 35% of people cry alone as opposed to with other people present._

The tears continued to flow.

_41% of adults in the U.S. suffering from mental illness went without treatment in 2015._

He was sick. He didn’t want to get better. He should be overjoyed right now.

_I don’t deserve help._ This was a sign. A sign he was to keep going. He cried until he fell asleep, and dreamed about I.V.’s full of Dilaudid and chocolate malt shakes.


	5. Evaluation

Morgan sat across from Hotch, looking down at his hands. The question hung in the air between them. The lack of an answer was too telling.

_Reid…he’s not doing too well, is he?_

The kid had lost even more weight since that night he collapsed in Morgan’s arms. They never saw him consume anything but coffee these days, and every single member of the team had approached Hotch, some on multiple occasions, to express their concern.

Respecting Reid’s privacy, Morgan had kept the hospital visit between himself and Hotch, but that added on to everything else made him extremely uneasy. Morgan was used to solving problems; he didn’t like feeling so helpless.

Hotch sighed, bringing him back to the office and the situation at hand.

“I want to order a psych evaluation for him. I want you to tell him.”

Morgan swallowed. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but Hotch was still his superior, so he didn’t really have a choice. He nodded solemnly, and stood up to leave.

“And, Morgan,” he looked around. “Stay with him. Talk to him.” He nodded once more, and left feeling so much worse than when he had entered.

 

* * *

 

The team had a new case that afternoon. It was a series of murders off highway 80 in Nevada and Utah; women, in their twenties. Morgan didn’t get a chance to talk to Reid until they were on the jet to Salt Lake City.

Spencer had deep purple bags under his eyes, and he seemed to be having trouble with the file he was reading. He frowned, turning the page, then turning back again, sighing in frustration.

“What’s the matter?” He jumped at Morgan’s voice behind him. Then he ran his hand through his hair, sighing even more heavily.

“Just…having trouble concentrating. Did you want something?” The kid sounded impatient and tired. Morgan dreaded what he had to say next.

“Yeah, um…I wanted to let you know, ya know just give you a heads up…” god this was hard. “Hotch wanted me to tell you that he scheduled an eval. for you when we get back.” Spencer’s shoulders tensed and he frowned up at Morgan.

“You mean a psych eval.” It wasn’t a question. Morgan wished he wasn’t here. He wished he and Reid were playing chess, or teasing each other, or even just sitting in silence reading side by side.

“Yes.”

Spencer nodded, and looked back down at the file in his hands.

“If you wanna talk about anything –”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Great, now he was angry. This would make for a fun case. Morgan turned to go, feeling like a piece of shit. As he walked away, he thought he heard Reid swearing under his breath.


	6. Find the Function of X

The evaluation led to Bureau-mandated therapy for the next six weeks. It was less than he had expected, if he was being honest, but he would take it. He could hide his struggles, sure. But he couldn't hide his obvious weight-loss. In reality, this was the best case scenario. It seemed to make Hotch and Morgan happy, and the rest of the team kept smiling at him and nodding, as though trying to reassure him.  _Profilers._ You can't live with 'em...

They didn't know the extent of it. None of them did, not even his therapist. Her name was Dr. Rand, and he liked her well enough. He told her that he was stressed and busy, that he forgot to eat sometimes. She seemed to believe him, but he couldn't be sure. 

In the meantime, he restricted and purged, exercised, and worked even harder to hide everything from his team. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting them see him struggle; not again. 

 

* * *

_200 calories so far today, and he still felt ok; not as dizzy as usual. If he went on a run and skipped dinner, he would feel lighter tomorrow. Was his wrist smaller than usual?_

“Dr. Reid, did you hear what I said?”

“Huh? Uh, no, sorry, I was thinking about…something else.”

She was unperturbed.

“I wanted to know what you bring to the team.”

Why did she have to ask such subjective questions? He could tell her how the team worked on a case, who usually worked on what. But that’s not what she was asking, and he knew it.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I mean, you obviously have value to them, so I was wondering how you perceive that value?”

She was smart. She didn’t placate him, or treat him like a patient. Their sessions had become more or less discussions, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He respected her, in spite of himself.

“Well I…I guess I have much the same function as an encyclopedia, or maybe a computer program that runs geographical analysis.”

“Does that mean you think you could be replaced if such a program existed?”

“I suppose so.” He had never thought about it like that, but he supposed it was more or less true. He spewed facts, and he figured out the geographical profile most of the time. But he couldn’t interrogate like Rossi, or see through people’s facades like Morgan. He couldn’t do anything close to what Garcia did on a daily basis. He was an eidetic memory. Nothing more.

“That’s not what Hotch tells me.” This caught him off guard, and he looked at her in surprise. She continued without waiting for his response. “He’s made it clear that he considers you invaluable to the team; irreplaceable.”

“Why would he say that?” He wasn’t fishing. He was genuinely curious, objectively. Or so he told himself.

“I want you to tell me. Surely there are times when you contribute to the team outside of the capacity of geography.”

“I – well we all have – I mean…” he was at a loss. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“This isn’t a test, Spencer. I just want you to try to see yourself from Hotch’s perspective. Or any other member of your team, really. What would they say about you?” Spencer’s muscles tensed. He wasn’t any good at seeing himself from other people’s points of view.

“I suppose…I suppose they might say that I…” why was this so hard? “They might say that I…make them laugh.”

It was her turn to look surprised, though she still showed an air of control. “Why do you say that?”

He swallowed. “Well, they don’t always understand me…or at least, they don’t think the way I do. And I get off-topic or start rambling about something and…and they laugh.”

“Ah, I see. And how does it make you feel when they laugh?”

“I guess I feel included? But also confused; I’m not always sure what they find funny about what I say. I don’t read people the way they do.”

“But you read Unsubs, don’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Unsubs are,” he swallowed nervously, “like me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They’re, you know…screwed up. Like me.”

“You think you’re screwed up?”

She looked at him very intensely. He could not meet her eyes. “Don’t you think so?” he mumbled. He could feel her staring at him, burning holes in him.

“No. I don’t. I think you’re in pain, and I think you take that pain out on yourself. It’s completely the opposite of what those men and women do, wouldn’t you say?”

“You mean it’s better that I hurt myself instead of hurting other people?”

“I didn’t say that. I just meant that it says a lot about you. You protect people, Spencer, so much so that you can’t bear to cause them any pain. That includes letting them know that you’re hurting.” He looked up to meet her gaze, and found that her eyes were searching his curiously.

“I don’t…I don’t know. That’s quite a way of putting it.”

“Do you think I’m on the right track?”                                                         

He didn’t answer her, but instead looked away, unable to maintain eye contact anymore. They sat in silence for another few moments. _I need to run, the second I get out of here I’m going to run home. No time to change. I need to feel empty…_

“Well, Spencer, it looks like our time is up. But I want you to think over what we talked about, and maybe gather some data out in the field this week. I want you to focus on the reality of your team dynamic, from new eyes. It may not be what you have told yourself it is.”

He nodded, and made his way to the door. He was thinking about running, burning off the 200 calories he had eaten. He was also thinking about Hotch. What did he bring to the team? He pushed the thought down. Better to preoccupy himself with his workout for now. He could think about all this later.


End file.
